given the near heroine like addiction to plastic surgery and botox our generation appears to have, it just occurred to natalie and i that we may be the ones that look odd as we age naturally, not as it should be, the other way around.

when i was thirteen years old i went to a late night drive-in to see an american werewolf in london.

early the next day, i was out in the fog of a cool autumn morning delivering papers on my bicycle. i never rolled my papers, so as i approached each house i would remove a paper from my satchel, lay it down on the doorstep and then ride away without stopping.

at one of the last houses on my route, with the sun just starting to rise and cut through the fog, i had dropped a paper at the door and was riding out the driveway past an el camino when the quiet morning was rent with horrific snarling and howling. scenes of jack being torn to pieces across the yorkshire moors came to mind as i leaped off my bike and turned around raising my paper bag to fend off the attack.

the attack never came, but years were taken off my life all the same. the el camino had two large dog crates in its bed with a werewolf (or some may say large doberman pincher) in each…